Despair
by Deana
Summary: Aramis accidentally does something that threatens to break his spirit forever. Entry for the 'Fête des Mousquetaires' contest: 'Despair'.


Despair  
A Musketeers story by Deana

Entry for the 'Fête des Mousquetaires' contest: 'Despair'.  
This is also my explanation for Aramis' bruised forehead and face in the season 3 pic that I used as the avatar for this story.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sudden scream was unexpected.

The three musketeers were patrolling the marketplace, after a rash of thefts the previous week. They'd split up and were meandering around, wearing their cloaks in a fashion that covered their pauldrons so potential thieves would not recognize them as musketeers.

Aramis immediately turned in the direction that the scream had come from, and watched as a man dragged a woman down the street. He quickly chased after him, pulling his musket out from behind his back as he ran.

Athos heard the scream as well, but wasn't sure where it had come from. He pulled out his pistol and looked around before spotting Aramis running. He quickly vanished from view before Athos could figure out what had happened, and he quickly started to follow.

Porthos appeared a few seconds later. "Who are we chasin'?" he exclaimed as they ran.

"I don't know," Athos told him as they ran. "You heard the scream?"

"Yeah. Where's Aramis?" Porthos asked.

Before Athos could answer, the sound of a gunshot split the air. They both ran towards the sound, careening around a corner and spotting a body lying on the ground.

As they feared, it was Aramis.

Athos and Porthos quickly dashed over and dropped to their knees beside him. Aramis' eyes were closed, and Athos quickly put his fingers on the pulse in his neck. "He's alive," he said, noticing that a bruise was forming on the right side of Aramis' forehead and under his eye.

Porthos sighed with relief and started searching Aramis for a gunshot wound.

Athos looked around to ensure that the danger was past, and frowned when he noticed something else...another body. "Do you recognize that woman?" he asked.

Porthos glanced at her for an instant before sliding his arms under his injured friend. "No, and I'm not leavin' Aramis here for one more second to figure it out." He adjusted Aramis' weight in his arms and started to walk off.

Athos headed to the woman and looked at her for a moment. Who was she, and why had she been killed?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Treville was standing on the balcony of the musketeer garrison when he saw Porthos walk through the gates carrying Aramis. He rushed down the stairs, shouting for someone to fetch a doctor. "What happened?!" he exclaimed as he ran towards them. He reached out a hand to brush Aramis' hair back so he could see his face, and saw the bruising that was forming on the right side of his forehead down past his eye.

"I don't know," Porthos told him as he climbed the stairs with Aramis in his arms. "Somethin' happened in the marketplace and Aramis tried to stop it. A woman was killed. Athos and I didn't get there quick enough to see what happened."

Treville sighed as they reached Aramis' room. He opened the door and watched as Porthos headed for the bed and gently laid him down.

Athos arrived a few minutes later, carrying Aramis' musket. "Is he awake?" he asked.

"No," Treville said, wringing out a cloth in a basin of water and handing it to Porthos, who was sitting on the side of the bed.

Porthos use it to dab at the bruising while Treville and Athos removed Aramis' belts, weapons, and jacket.

The doctor arrived a few minutes later. "What happened?" he asked.

"He had an altercation with a criminal," Athos said. "We didn't see exactly."

The doctor looked at the bruises on Aramis before glancing at Athos. "Was _that_ at the scene?" he asked, gesturing to the musket.

"Yes," Athos said.

"From the shape of these bruises," said the doctor. "I would guess that he was jabbed in the face with it." He pointed at the part of the stock that would rest against a shoulder when firing.

Porthos winced.

"Concussion?" Treville asked.

"Undoubtedly," said the doctor, gently prodding the bruises and lifting the affected eyelid. "When he wakes, keep him quiet and still. He might have trouble seeing out of this eye for a while."

No one was surprised to hear that. They watched as the doctor continued his examination, listened to his instructions, and thanked him as he left.

"Neither of you saw anything?" Treville asked.

They both shook their heads. "We must wait until he wakes to tell us," Athos said.

And wait they did, for three hours before Aramis suddenly shifted slightly and groaned.

Porthos stood from his chair and sat on the side of the bed. "Hey, take it easy," he said, putting a hand on his arm.

Athos and Treville stood and came closer; watching as Aramis slowly woke.

The pain was the first thing that Aramis noticed. He winced and moved his head slightly, but it made him dizzy, even with his eyes closed.

Everyone was patient as they watched, and Porthos squeezed his arm in support.

A minute passed before Aramis moved again. "Ooooh," he eventually moaned, slowly reaching a hand up towards his head.

"Not a good idea, Aramis," Porthos said, grabbing his wrist and lowering his hand back down.

"What…happened?" Aramis mumbled, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"We were hoping that you could tell _us_ ," Athos answered.

Aramis blinked his eyes open, squinting. He was quiet, looking confused as he tried to think.

"Take it easy," Treville said. "You have a concussion. It might take a little time for your mind to clear."

Aramis blinked a few more times, before eventually looking at Athos. "Where were we?"

"Patrolling the marketplace, watching for thieves," Athos told him. "A woman screamed and you ran after her."

"A woman?" Aramis echoed, appearing to think. Suddenly, the memory returned and his face abruptly turned even whiter than it already was as he quickly tried to sit up.

"Whoa!" said Porthos, reaching out to hold him down before he hurt himself worse.

Athos hurried around the other side of the bed to did the same.

"The woman!" Aramis exclaimed, fighting to get free. "Is she alive?!"

"Calm down!" Treville said, sitting on the bed and adding his own hands to try to still the struggling musketeer. "No, Aramis…she's dead. Her attacker killed her."

At his words, Aramis went completely limp. "No," he moaned, closing his eyes. "No…"

"It isn't your fault, Aramis," Porthos said. "You did what you could."

"No," Aramis whispered, brokenly. The three men were shocked to see tears leak from his eyes. "He didn't kill her… _I_ did."

Everyone was shocked speechless for a moment.

"What?!" Porthos finally exclaimed.

"I shot at the man…but hit the woman," Aramis explained. The pain in his head—made worse by his frantic struggle—grew almost unbearable and he raised his hands to grasp it.

"You cannot blame yourself, Aramis," Treville said, knowing that it would fall on deaf ears.

Aramis said nothing, groaning and gasping from the pain…both physical _and_ emotional.

"Maybe you're wrong, Aramis," Porthos said, loosening the restrictive hold on his friend since Aramis had stopped moving. "Maybe the man shot her."

"No," Aramis said, eyes closed and hands still holding his pounding head. "I fired, and she fell."

No one knew what else to say.

Aramis winced and tried to curl up on his left side, so they gently helped him shift his position.

"Do you remember what the man looked like?" Athos asked.

"Didn't see his face," Aramis told him, before sighing with a soft groan.

Porthos squeezed his arm. "Just rest, Aramis. It'll be all right."

"All right? _How_?" Aramis answered, mournfully. "I killed a woman, Porthos: a _woman_!"

Porthos sighed and rubbed his friend's arm in comfort. He shot a helpless look at the others.

Treville and Athos had no idea how to help Aramis in a situation like this. They all knew Aramis to be compassionate and kind; always there to help a damsel in distress…there was no question that this would devastate him.

Suddenly, the tension in Aramis' body melted away, and they realized that he'd passed out. Physically, that was a bad sign, but they couldn't help but be partly relieved; at least Aramis would get a respite from his grief.

Porthos squeezed Aramis' arm, even though he couldn't feel it. Sighing, he looked at Athos and Treville. "What do we do now?"

Neither of them had an answer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Athos hurried through the streets of Paris, quickly making his way to coroner Poupart's office. Once inside, he opened his mouth to call out to him, before spotting the man near the back, leaning over a body. He quickly strode over and asked, "Where is the woman who was brought in today?"

Poupart jumped, startled. "Warn a man next time! I'm not ready to find myself stretched out on one of these tables myself anytime soon!"

Athos had no time for talk. "The woman?" he said.

The coroner nodded and headed over to a covered table nearby. He pulled the sheet back to display her face. "We don't get many women...they aren't as keen to get drunk and fall into the Seine." He stared at the body a little hungrily, which would've been very concerning to Athos if he didn't know that Poupart merely wanted to dissect it in order to increase his knowledge.

Athos took a pouch full of coins and held it out. "I need you to lie to Aramis," he said, bluntly.

Poupart's eyes grew as wide as saucers and he reached out to take it. "All right," he quickly agreed. "What do you want me to say?"

"I need you to tell him that he did not kill this woman," Athos said.

Poupart looked at him fearfully now. " _He_ killed her?!"

Athos sighed and explained the situation.

"Not his fault," said the coroner. "A terrible thing, but it happens."

Athos nodded. Muskets and pistols weren't the most accurate weapons...though in Aramis' hands, nothing could be _more_ accurate...which was why this was especially tragic. "You must have many musket balls around here."

Poupart nodded, clutching the money. "Oh yes, plenty."

As Athos looked at the woman, he suddenly realized that Aramis might not take their word...he might even guess what Athos had done. He took the purse of coins hanging from his belt and held it out. "I need you to do something else..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In Aramis' room, Porthos sat staring at his unconscious friend, at the livid purple bruise on the right side of his forehead that stretched down to his cheekbone. They hadn't had a chance to find out if the blow had affected his eyesight before he'd passed out again, and Porthos sighed nervously. Aramis needed sharp vision more then any of them...

Athos still hadn't come back, and Porthos wondered where he'd gone. It'd been over an hour since he'd left, and Porthos was surprised that he'd gone _anywhere_ considering the situation.

Eventually, Porthos stood to stretch his legs, and saw Aramis suddenly move his arms. He sat on the side of the bed instead and gently grasped his friend's shoulder. "Aramis?" he said. "You awake?"

Aramis winced and made a pained sound, shakily raising a hand to his forehead. "Porthos? What...what happened?"

Porthos was surprised at the question. Aramis had forgotten again? While not abnormal considering his concussion, it was unexpected, and Porthos wondered if there was a way to keep the truth from him. "Um," he said, trying to quickly think of something to say.

Aramis' eyes opened at the indecisiveness of his friend's tone. "Is anyone else hurt?"

"No," Porthos told him.

Despite his injury, Aramis could tell that Porthos was keeping something from him. "Is someone _dead_?" He quickly tried to get out of the bed.

Porthos grabbed him and pushed him back down. "No, no, no one's dead...I mean, no one important." He winced at his words. "That's not what I mean either..."

The pain in Aramis' head increased from the movement, and he closed his eyes and grasped it with a wince. His eyes popped open a few seconds later though, and he lay staring at nothing.

It was very unnerving for Porthos to watch him like that, even though he'd seen it plenty when Aramis had returned wounded—physically _and_ mentally—from Savoy. It was a state that he never wanted to see his closest friend in again, and he kept his hands on his friend's arms and squeezed them. "Aramis?" he said, nervously. "Wherever your mind just went, you better get back here right _now_."

A few more seconds passed before Aramis suddenly looked at him. "I remember...a woman."

Porthos inwardly swore.

Clarity returned to Aramis' eyes. "Is she all right?"

Porthos sighed. "No, Aramis, she's dead. I'm sorry."

Aramis was quiet at first. "I tried to save her."

Porthos blinked. Aramis didn't remember shooting her? "It's not your fault," he said.

Aramis winced again and closed his eyes.

Porthos watched his friend, waiting for Aramis to suddenly remember shooting the woman, but he didn't move again, laying quietly, obviously awake.

The door suddenly opened very quietly, and Athos came inside, walking softly over to the bed.

Porthos put a finger to his lips before grabbing Athos' arm and pulling his upper body downward. "He's awake, and doesn't remember shooting her," he whispered.

Athos rose an eyebrow and stood up straight again, watching Aramis breathe heavier than normal as he lay motionless. The fact that he was in pain was obvious. "Aramis?" he said, very quietly.

"Athos," Aramis replied, hoarsely.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I was dropped on my head," Aramis replied. "And face," he added.

"Can you see out your eye?" Porthos asked.

Aramis slowly opened them and blinked up at his friends. He closed his left eye for a few seconds before saying, "Blurred."

That wasn't surprising, but it was better than it _could_ be.

"Just rest," Porthos said. "You'll be fine."

Aramis closed his eyes again and appeared to do just that, but seconds later, his eyes popped open and he tried to sit up.

"Whoa whoa!" Porthos said. _Not again,_ he thought.

"She's dead?" Aramis said. "I killed her! Porthos, it was me...I shot at the man but hit her instead!"

"Shh, shh," Porthos said, holding him down. "It was an accident, Aramis."

Distraught, Aramis raised his hands to his throbbing head, breathing heavily. Suddenly, just like before, he passed out again.

Porthos sat back and sighed. "He's gonna hurt himself worse if he keeps doing that!" Turning, he watched as Athos walked over to a small shelf that contained Aramis' writing supplies. Taking a piece of parchment and a quill, Athos began to write something.

Porthos watched, puzzled. "What are you doin'?"

Without turning, Athos held up one finger, telling him to wait.

Porthos complied, and when Athos headed over to him with the parchment, he took it and read:

 _I paid Poupart to tell Aramis that he did not kill the woman. He will use a musket ball that will obviously not be one of his._

Porthos looked up at him with a huge smile.

Athos held his finger to his lips in case Aramis could hear them, before taking the parchment back and ripping it into small pieces and sticking them into a pocket.

The relief that Porthos felt flooded him like a wave, and he shook his head, still smiling. _Brilliant,_ he mouthed.

Athos nodded, before sitting in the other chair that sat beside the bed and studying their friend.

Aramis looked awful—if someone so handsome could ever truly look 'awful'. The bruises on his forehead and under his eye were darker than they'd been before Athos had left, and Aramis looked very pale.

It was just over an hour later when Aramis woke with a pained groan. Athos and Porthos quickly sat on either side of him, better prepared this time to stop Aramis from agitating himself into passing out again.

Aramis apparently knew that his friends were there, for without opening his eyes, he said, "I killed her."

"You can't be sure of that," Athos said, not wanting to be too adamant and risk Aramis figuring out what he had done.

Wincing, Aramis raised a hand and placed it over his eyes.

"Come on," Porthos said. "You're the best shot in Paris...in all of France. There must be some room for doubt. Maybe your injury is makin' you remember wrong."

"Did you find the man's body?" Aramis asked.

Both Athos and Porthos froze.

At their lack of answer, Aramis said, "That's because I shot her and he got away." He sounded heartbroken.

Athos and Porthos looked at each other, having not thought of that.

Aramis managed to stay conscious through the rest of the day, but he refused food, saying that the concussion had upset his stomach. It could've been true, but his friends wondered if he simply couldn't bear to eat after what he'd accidentally done.

The night passed slowly, with Aramis too upset to sleep. When he did nod off, it was never for long, so Athos and Porthos didn't have to schedule frequent wakings to ensure that he didn't loose consciousness again.

"You need to sleep, Aramis," Porthos said at one point. "You're hampering your recovery."

"That woman is dead because of me," Aramis replied, face pale with obvious pain lines. "I'll recover, but she _never_ will."

Porthos sighed and squeezed his arm.

Once morning came, Treville came to see Aramis and frowned at his state; the injured musketeer was paler than he'd been the day before and looked half-dead. "How is he?" he asked, feeling that it was a stupid question.

Athos, who he'd met at the door as he'd been about to leave the room, sighed. "Full of despair," Athos said. "He refuses to eat and hardly slept all night. I was about to fetch some broth to pour down his throat if I have to."

Treville sighed. "Good idea," he said. After Athos left, Treville walked closer to the bed, where Porthos was sitting speaking quietly to his friend. "Aramis, Porthos," he said.

Porthos turned to look at him. "Mornin', Captain," he said.

Treville deliberately smiled at Aramis. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Aramis replied. It was such a ridiculous lie that it might've been funny under different circumstances.

"Would you mind giving us a moment, Porthos?" Treville asked.

Porthos looked at him and seemed ready to protest, not wanting to leave his injured friend, but he nodded and gripped Aramis' arm as he stood. "I'll be back."

Aramis gave a slight nod.

Treville sat on the bed and waited until Porthos was gone before he spoke. "Is French your first language?" he unexpectedly asked.

Aramis looked at him with a frown. What kind of question was that? Treville knew his entire background.

"Just making sure that you know the actual definition of 'fine'," Treville said.

One corner of Aramis' mouth turned up in a slight smile, which had been Treville's goal. The expression didn't last long before quickly fading away.

Treville sighed. "Aramis, listen to me," he said. "You can't blame yourself for what happened."

Aramis closed his eyes.

"When I was younger," Treville went on. "There was a hostage situation and I did the same thing; killed the wrong person."

Aramis opened his eyes.

"I was mortified," Treville said. "Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep…the only difference between you and I is that I wasn't injured. This kind of thing is terrible and unfortunate, but it happens more often than you think and it can't be helped. Please, for your sake and that of your friends, forgive yourself."

Aramis sighed.

A noise came from behind the door, and Treville knew that Porthos was itching to come back inside. "Athos went to get you some broth. Promise me that you'll drink it."

Aramis hesitated before saying, "I'll try."

Treville nodded and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll come back later. Get some sleep; that's an order." He smiled slightly, stood, and headed for the door.

As soon as he was gone, an idea occurred to Aramis and he somehow managed to pull himself upright to sit on the side of the bed. His headache increased its throbbing and the room spun. He had to lower his head, raising his left hand to his face.

Porthos walked back in then and was surprised to see Aramis sitting up. "What are you doing?!" he exclaimed, heading over and grabbing his friend's shoulder. "Why aren't you lying down?" he asked.

Aramis sighed in response.

Porthos squeezed his shoulder. "Lie back," he said, trying to gently force him down to the mattress.

Aramis submitted without protest.

Porthos put a hand under his friend's head, trying to lay him down without causing him anymore pain. Once Aramis' head was resting on the pillow, Porthos carefully pulled his hand out from under it.

Aramis lay there quietly, his eyes closing and reopening drowsily.

"Look how tired you are," Porthos said as he sat on the side of the bed. "Go to sleep."

Aramis sighed again. "If only it were that easy." His voice sounded weak.

The door opened again and Athos came inside with a large mug.

"Hold that thought," Porthos told Aramis. He watched as Athos came over to the bed and gave Aramis a stern look. "Sit him up," he told Porthos.

Porthos scooted over and turned himself around so that he was sitting beside Aramis instead of facing him, and he slid an arm under him and pulled him up high enough to drink. "Guess I should've left you where you were a minute ago," he said, before taking the mug from Athos.

Athos frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There's something I need to do," Aramis told him.

"Less talking, more drinking," Athos scolded. "Porthos?"

"The captain had a little talk with 'im, and when I came back in, he was sittin' up on the side of the bed," Porthos explained, as he slowly fed Aramis only a little of the broth before stopping. "Botherin' your stomach?"

Aramis waited a moment before answering. His stomach was mildly upset, but the broth wasn't making it feel worse. On the contrary, the heat and flavor were wonderful. "No," he said.

Porthos smiled and fed him more.

Aramis drank it all, to their relief, and after Porthos laid him flat again, he closed his eyes with a wince as his head painfully throbbed from the movement.

The others were quiet as they watched, and after Aramis reopened his eyes, Athos said to him, " _Now_ you can talk."

"I need to see her," Aramis said.

Neither Athos nor Porthos expected that. "Why?" Porthos asked.

"To say a prayer," said Aramis. "And...to ask forgiveness."

The others realized that they shouldn't've been surprised, knowing Aramis' religious nature.

"All right," Athos said. They certainly couldn't deny his wish, plus, it would be the perfect opportunity for the coroner to tell Aramis that he hadn't shot the woman. Suddenly, Athos realized something. He picked up the mug. "I will get you some more broth," he said.

"I don't need more," Aramis said, blinking tiredly.

It was obvious that he was finally losing his battle with sleep, and Athos simply waited until Aramis was out, which didn't take long. "I shall return," he said to Porthos.

Porthos nodded, wondering where he was off to now.

Athos hurried back to the coroner's, finding the woman's body just as he'd seen it before. "Have you removed the ball yet?"

Poupart shook his head. "No."

"Good," Athos said. "I have further instructions for you."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis slept on and off throughout the day, with his friends waking him occasionally to ensure that he didn't lose consciousness again. Still not up to eating, he simply drank more broth when they brought it to him, obeying lest they stop him from going to visit the woman's body to do his duty.

Athos and Porthos didn't think that he would be fit to do such a thing so soon, but Aramis was adamant, and they knew that the sooner he went, the sooner he'd be told by the coroner that he wasn't responsible for her death. They reluctantly agreed, if Aramis promised to eat something before they left.

The next morning, Serge sent up some porridge for him, and after helping Aramis sit up, they watched as he slowly ate it. His stomach still felt off, but it wasn't enough to stop him.

Porthos never moved from his spot on the side of the bed, and when Aramis couldn't finish it all, he took the bowl and placed it on the bedside table.

Athos came closer. "You are sure that you wish to do this today?"

"The sooner, the better," Aramis replied.

Porthos sighed. "If you fall flat on your face, don't say we didn't warn ya."

Aramis had no reply for that, and they helped him dress and fetched his mirror when he asked for it.

Aramis stared at the nasty bruising on his forehead and cheekbone, realizing how lucky he was that the blow hadn't irreparably damaged his eye. His vision in it was still a little blurred, but getting better.

Both men eventually pulled Aramis to his feet and held onto him tightly when he sagged between them.

"Told ya," said Porthos, wrapping an arm around his back and pulling his friend to lean against him.

Aramis laid his head on Porthos' shoulder, eyes closed as he fought the dizziness and throbbing pain.

Athos and Porthos shared a silent, troubled look. If the situation had been different, they'd put Aramis right back to bed.

"I'm fine," they heard, drawing their attention back to Aramis as he carefully lifted his head. "Let's go."

It was a very slow journey out the door and down the stairs. All three of them were glad that Treville was nowhere in sight, as they knew that he'd probably have a fit if he saw them taking Aramis away from the garrison in his condition.

Getting Aramis onto his horse was another adventure that almost ended in disaster when Aramis half passed-out and nearly fell off.

"Forget it," Porthos said, as he and Athos held Aramis steady in the saddle. "It's too soon, Aramis. You can't handle this yet."

Aramis had one hand over his eyes and the other hand clutched in his horses' mane. "No!" he exclaimed, with more strength than he really had. "I need to do this. Now."

"Has anyone ever told you that you are reckless?" Athos commented.

"Only you," Aramis replied, taking the bait. He lowered his hand and blinked his vision into better focus.

After ensuring that Aramis had regained enough balance, the others mounted and they rode out of the garrison. The coroner's wasn't far, only a few miles away, but it seemed to take forever at their slow pace.

Aramis was quiet during the ride, saying nothing but 'yes' or 'fine' when asked if he was all right…which seemed to be every thirty seconds. It was a difficult ride for his concussed head, and he was relieved when they finally arrived. Getting off the horse was nearly as hard as getting on, and he had to wait out another painful dizzy spell before they could enter.

"Good day, messieurs," Poupart called out from the corner of the room. "What can I do for you today?"

Athos rolled his eyes. The man was overdoing it. "We would like to see the body of the woman who was brought in yesterday."

"Ah," said the coroner. "I was just about to remove the ball."

At those words, Aramis suddenly swayed into Porthos, who had an arm around him anyway in support. "Hey, hey," Porthos said to him. "Take it easy. Can I sit him somewhere?" he asked.

Poupart grabbed a chair and placed it right beside the woman. Porthos and Athos helped Aramis over to it and sat him down.

The coroner got right to work as Porthos knelt beside the chair and gripped their injured friend's shoulder. "You all right?"

Aramis didn't answer that time…he merely sighed.

"Well," they heard a minute later. "That's an old one."

"An old what?" Athos asked.

"This musket ball," said Poupart, holding it out.

Aramis snapped his head up so fast that the room spun and spots erupted in his vision, but he didn't care. "What?" he asked.

"Are you saying that this isn't the type of ball that we use?" Athos asked, succeeding in sounding surprised.

"That's right," said the coroner. "See?"

Athos took it and looked at it before putting it into Aramis' hand.

Aramis simply blinked at it, unable to believe what he was seeing. That musket ball was _not_ his.

Porthos broke into a wide smile. "I knew it! I told you! You didn't kill her!" He desperately hoped that Aramis wouldn't be able to tell that he was acting.

"It's not mine," Aramis whispered, sounding dazed. "I didn't kill her." Suddenly his eyes closed and his head tipped forward.

"Whoa!" Porthos exclaimed, grabbing his friend's upper arms to keep him upright in the chair.

Athos placed his hand under his friend's chin and lifted his head before tapping his face. "Aramis," he called.

Aramis made a little noise, eyes scrunched shut.

Poupart watched, contrite. He certainly hadn't expected to make him pass out.

"Aramis," Porthos echoed, tightening his hold. "Open your eyes."

It took a few seconds, but their friend finally obeyed. "I didn't kill her," he whispered.

"That's right," Athos told him. "You didn't."

"Now say your prayer and let's go," Porthos said. "You need to rest."

At that, Aramis shakily moved to stand, and they both pulled him up, holding onto him tightly when he swayed dizzily. They kept their firm hold as Aramis reached out a hand to trace a cross onto her forehead. "I'm sorry that I failed in saving your life," he said, mournfully. It was a few seconds before he could speak again. "May you find peace forever in the arms of God."

"Amen," Porthos quickly said, wanting to get his injured friend home.

Aramis sighed before taking a step away, and they gently helped him, seeing how quickly he was fading.

"Thank you," he said to the coroner, so relieved that he'd removed the ball, otherwise he would never have known.

Poupart smiled with a nod.

Sensing that Athos wanted to speak to the coroner, Porthos took all of Aramis' weight and carefully got him out the door.

"Thank you," Athos said to him. "You have my eternal gratitude."

"That wasn't faked," Poupart said. "I did exactly what you said…I dug the ball out through her back so I could replace it with a different one and no one would be able to tell from the front, but this really is the one that I found," he said, holding it up again.

Athos blinked. "So he really didn't kill her?"

The coroner shook his head. "No, he didn't."

Athos shook his head in amazement. He hadn't expected that.

Porthos was waiting for Athos to come out so they could get Aramis back onto his horse, and it was even harder this time, as relief and reaction to the situation combined with the concussion were taking their toll on Aramis. Once back at the garrison, Porthos had to practically carry Aramis up the stairs and into his room, where they sat him in a chair so they could remove his jacket and boots before putting him back in bed.

Aramis was so relieved, that he felt sleep pulling at him instantly. He looked up at both of his friends with his eyes full of sincerity. "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," Athos said.

Porthos, sitting on the bed, smiled and squeezed Aramis' arm.

Aramis fell asleep less than a minute later.

Porthos slowly stood from the bed and looked at Athos, heaving a noiseless sigh of relief. They walked to the other side of the room so as not to wake their friend, and Porthos whispered, "That went well."

Athos nodded.

"It was a brilliant idea," Porthos continued almost too softly for Athos to hear him.

Athos nodded. "There's just one thing."

"What?"

"That was the actual ball."

Porthos blinked. "You mean…?"

Athos nodded. "He really didn't kill her."

Porthos smiled and shook his head. "I didn't expect that…he was so positive."

"It might've been the concussion," Athos said. "Confusing his memory."

"So how can this all be explained, then?" Porthos asked. "We only heard one gunshot."

Athos shook his head. "Perhaps the woman's assailant shot her at the same time that Aramis fired, and he saw her fall rather than seeing his ball strike the man. He got away, but may have died somewhere else."

That made perfect sense. Porthos nodded, and they headed back to the bed where their friend peacefully slept, his face no longer looking upset. Rather than being influenced by the stressful situation, Aramis' dreams were filled with friendship and brotherhood, where there was no room left for despair.

THE END


End file.
